


your text from last night

by klaineanummel



Category: Glee
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Drunk Sex, M/M, Single Father Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaineanummel/pseuds/klaineanummel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt doesn't make sound decisions when he's drunk. </p><p>Or that time Kurt sent a dick pic to Rachel's dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your text from last night

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt "(902): I don’t want to be “that guy” but I may have accidentally sent a dick pic to your mom " from [this text post](http://sterek.tumblr.com/post/121469602473). also for my klainebingo prompt "hickey"
> 
> WARNING for drunk sex that may come across a bit dub-con-ish. (thank you to PerfectAnomaly for pointing it out!!)

Kurt is drunk.

Kurt is very, very, very drunk.

Santana and Brittany have been handing him drink after drink for about an hour now, and Kurt feels like he could do anything. He could rob a bank and get away with it. He could go to the directors of Wicked and convince them to fire Fiyero so Kurt could play him instead. He could make Rachel break up with her dumb fuck of a boyfriend. He could do _anything_.

“I can do anything,” he tells Santana, picking up the latest drink she’s dropped in front of him and chugging it down, “Anything, I mean it. I can do anything, right now. I could fly!” his eyes widen, “Santana, I could fly.”

She laughs and pats his head, “Let’s save the flying for another day, huh? Come on, let’s go dance.”

“I can do that,” he says, letting her take his hand and following her onto the dance floor, Brittany close behind, “I can do that because I can do anything.”

“Can you time travel?” Brittany asks. Kurt stops dead in his tracks and turns around, his eyes as round as saucers.

“Brittany, I _can_ ,” he tells her, “I can do anything,” he takes her hands tightly in his and says, “Britt, I can do anything. Let’s time travel, right now.”

“No,” Santana steps between them, “We’re dancing right now.”

“Okay, but later,” Kurt promises Brittany, “We’ll time travel later.”

They dance, all three of them smooshed together on the packed dance floor. Kurt is in between them, and he can see men staring at him jealously as he sways his hips back and forth, arms above his head, Santana and Brittany grinding against him and rubbing their hands all over his body. He wants to tell these men that Brittany and Santana are kind of a thing, but _he_ isn’t, so they don’t really have to be jealous at all.

“I need another drink,” he tells Santana after a few songs. He slips out from between them and leaves them to dance. He orders a shot of vodka and downs it, grinning up at the bartender and asking for another.

“I don’t know buddy,” the man behind the bar says, “I saw those girls plying you with drinks earlier. I think you’ve had enough.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot right off his forehead, “No!” he says, shaking his head, “No, I can do anything, and because I can do anything I can have another drink. Just one more,” he holds up one finger and pushes it close to the bartender, “Only one more?”

The bartender sighs but nods, filling Kurt’s shot glass up one more time. Kurt whoops happily and drinks it as soon as the bartender has taken the bottle out of the way.

“Did you know,” he says, slamming his shot glass down on the bar, “I can do anything?”

The bartender smiles, “You told me that.”

Kurt nods. He feels his hair flop around a little and nods some more. It feels funny. “Well, I can. I can do anything. I can fly, and I can time travel and – did you know I can time travel?”

“Can you?” the bartender leans on the bar. He has nice forearms, Kurt notices. “Where are you going to time travel then?”

Kurt didn’t even think about that. He stares at the bartender, mind whirring a mile a minute. The opportunities are endless, really.

“I know!” he snaps his fingers together, “Rachel’s dad.”

The bartender laughs, “What?”

“I will time travel back in time to when Rachel’s dad was young like me, and then he will actually consider hooking up with me and not laugh at me every time I flirt with him.”

“You flirt with your friend’s dad?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Kurt says, “Here,” he pulls out his phone, opens up Facebook, and somehow manages to find Blaine’s profile despite his state of inebriation, “See?” he holds the phone up for the bartender to see, Blaine’s profile picture filling up his phone screen, “He’s _so_ hot. Wouldn’t you flirt with him?”

The bartender whistles, “Yeah, that’s a DILF if I ever saw one.”

“I _know_ ,” Kurt says, putting the phone back in his pocket, “So now I’m going to travel back in time and get him when he’s my age. He will already have Rachel, so she won’t die or anything, and it’ll all be awesome,” he leans in, “Do you think Rachel will be my daughter?”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, pal,” the bartender says, patting his hands, “I’m going to call you a cab, okay?”

“I’m with my friends,” Kurt says, but the bartender shakes his head.

“Those girls disappears about ten minutes ago. I’m pretty sure I saw them leaving out the back door. I’m getting you a cab.”

Kurt nods, “Okay, you convinced me,” he says, then points a finger at him, “But I’m going to the bathroom first. Don’t let the cab leave without me.”

“Cross my heart,” the bartender says. Kurt walks backward for a while, making sure the bartender won’t go back on his word, but he keeps bumping into people and he can’t really see the bathroom this way, so he turns around and stumbles through the crowd.

There isn’t a line for the bathroom, thankfully, so he pees really fast, wipes himself off, and then leans against the stall door. Man, he can _anything_. He can even travel back in time and be with Blaine, who he’s been crushing on since he was fifteen. Even that.

He sighs, and his hand goes down to his soft dick, fondling it gently. He can totally masturbate in this bar bathroom. He can do that. And he can think about Blaine while he does it. He gives himself a couple of steady strokes and feels himself hardening. He bites down on his lower lip to keep a loud moan from escaping. He can do this, and he can be quiet about it. He knows that.

The thing is that as awesome as it would be to hook up with a twenty-three year old Blaine, Kurt kind of really likes forty-four year old Blaine. He’s still in really good shape for his age, but he has this little soft spot right at the front of his stomach that Kurt really wants to use as a pillow forever. And his arms are so nice and strong, like they could lift Kurt right up and hold him against the wall while he fucks him. Oh, damn that’s a nice mental image.

Kurt strokes himself harder. He wants Blaine to just _give in_. He’s seen Blaine staring at him. He knows Blaine was jealous when Kurt had his boyfriend pick he and Rachel up to go to the movies a few months back. Well, ex-boyfriend now, but still. He knows Blaine wants him too, is the point, and he’s tired of just thinking about Blaine while he fucks himself with his fingers and dildos, or just jacks off in dirty club bathrooms, instead of actually fucking Blaine.

The thing is, Kurt can do anything. He pauses, hand still on his now completely hard dick and thinks about it. He can do _anything_. If he can do anything, why waste time going back in time to be with Blaine when he can just be with Blaine now?

Keeping a hand on his dick he pulls his phone out and opens his messaging app. One-handed, he sends a text to Blaine telling him that he’s super hard and thinking about him, and then, in case Blaine doesn’t believe him, he takes a picture of his cock and sends it along with the message. Satisfied, he gives himself a couple more leisurely strokes, waiting for a reply.

It feels like forever before Blaine sends back one word: _Kurt…_

Kurt groans and his hand picks up its rhythm. There’s no finesse to it, just Kurt’s hand flying up and down his cock, trying to get off as quickly as possible. He’s still drunk, so it takes longer than it usually would, but he can do anything, so soon enough he’s coming all over his hand and letting out a loud shout as come spills over his fingers and splatters the bottom of his shirt.

Before he tucks himself back into his pants he sends Blaine another picture, one of his softening cock, and tells him that he wishes it had been Blaine.

He doesn’t check for a response for that one, tucking himself back into his jeans and washing the jizz off his hands. He goes back out into the club and waves at the bartender, who waves back. The bartender tells him that his cab is here, and then makes him pay for all of his and Brittany and Santana’s drinks. Kurt doesn’t really care because he can do anything, and he’ll just buy a lottery ticket tomorrow and win all his money back. No big deal.

He gets in the cab and mumbles off his address to him, slumping in the backseat and smiling, still feeling silly and sated from his orgasm. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, grinning when he sees the response.

He leans forward and tells the cabbie that actually, he’s changed his mind, he wants to go somewhere else now.

**

Kurt wakes up feeling like he’s been sucker punched by a yeti. He doesn’t feel nauseous, thank god, but his head feels just about ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face, then lowering them, eyes widening when he realizes that he’s shirtless. Shocked, he keeps moving his hands down, down, down – yeah. He’s naked. He’s totally, completely naked. And hard. But that part’s less important.

He stands up and finds a mirror on the opposite side of the room. His eyes bug at the large amount of hickeys littering his neck and torso, the fingerprint shaped bruises all over his hips.

That’s, of course, the moment he realizes that he is _not_ in his apartment. He turns around quickly, staring down at the bed he just got out of, stomach clenching in surprise when he sees Blaine Anderson leaning against a couple of pillows, watching Kurt freak out with an infinite amount of amusement.

“Holy shit,” Kurt murmurs. Blaine shifts a bit, the blanket falling away a bit and revealing that he is naked as well. “Holy shit.”

“Good morning,” Blaine greets. There’s hickeys all over his neck too, and Kurt flashes back to the previous night, climbing into Blaine’s lap and spending a good fifteen minutes trying to devour his neck.

Kurt doesn’t know what to say. “Is this real?” he asks, taking a cautious step closer to the bed, “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Blaine laughs, that cute old-guy laugh of his and leans forward, “Come here,” he beckons. Kurt does so slowly, suddenly very aware of how naked and hard he is. He sits down on the edge of the bed, then shifts a little closer when Blaine gives him a _look_.

“Do you remember last night?” Blaine asks. Kurt shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head. It’s there, sort of, like a dream he had that is only now fading. “Let me help you.”

His hand goes down to Kurt’s cock and he wraps his fingers around it expertly. Kurt groans, fingers clenching around the bedsheets.

“Last night you went out with Brittany and Santana and got spectacularly drunk,” Blaine says, giving Kurt’s cock two lazy pumps, “I only know this because Rachel was invited, but decided to spend the night with Jesse instead. I was looking forward to having the place to myself,” he rubs his thumb over the ridge of Kurt’s cockhead, “Having some alone time.”

“Oh god,” Kurt whispers, feeling himself turn to jelly.

“So I’ve just settled in for the night and am getting ready to lose myself in the novel Rach got me for Christmas, when suddenly I’m receiving a text from you, claiming that you’re hard and thinking about me,” he twists his wrist as he gives Kurt’s cock a couple more strokes. “With a visual aid to boot.”

“Fuck,” Kurt slumps into the bed. Blaine moves closer.

“Long story short,” he says, “I’m halfway through giving myself the best orgasm I’ve had in a long time when there’s a knock on my door. I know it’s you, so I don’t even bother getting dressed, I just pull my boxers back up and go to greet you,” he gives Kurt’s cock a long pull and Kurt whimpers. “As soon as I open the door, you attack me,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Kurt’s neck, right over one of his hickeys from the night before. “Practically jump on me, your lips all over my face and neck, hands on my shoulders, begging me to fuck you.”

“Please,” Kurt says, arching his hips, trying to get Blaine to increase the pace.

“Any other time I would have said no,” Blaine says, continuing as though Kurt had never interrupted, “But you looked so hot and so desperate, and I kept seeing that damn picture you sent me, of your beautiful cock, so hard for me…” he tightens his grip on said cock, “so I took you to my room.”

With every word Blaine speaks Kurt remembers. He remembers knocking on Blaine’s door, feeling on top of the world. He remembers throwing himself at him the moment Blaine opened the door wearing nothing but flimsy boxers. He remembers kissing Blaine full on the mouth, then kissing his jaw, then his neck, then his collarbone, then back up his neck and jaw and to his lips. He remembers whispering, “Fuck me, Blaine. Fuck me,” in Blaine’s ear. He thinks he would be more embarrassed by his behavior if he weren’t currently receiving the most excruciating handjob in the world.

“You straddled me as soon as we were there,” and Blaine straddles Kurt, one leg on each side of Kurt’s hips, hand never leaving his dick, “fucked my tongue with your mouth. You spent at least ten minutes on my neck, marking me, making sure everyone would know what I’d done.”

“Fifteen,” Kurt breathes, hands going to Blaine’s waist and holding tight. Blaine’s skin is so warm under his fingertips, so smooth and soft, “At least – fifteen minutes,” he says, and Blaine smirks, letting go of Kurt’s cock.

“So you do remember? Well, I guess there’s no need for me to continue then.”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s waist, “Please,” he says, shaking his head, “Please, please keep going, please.”

Blaine grasps his cock again, looser this time, and gives him a barely there stroke, “Alright,” he agrees, voice growing deeper.

“I flipped us over,” Blaine says, leaning down so his face is hovering near Kurt’s, the heat of his hard cock radiating on to Kurt’s, “Finally got you naked under me. I repaid the favor, kissing you everywhere, making you writhe and moan as I took off your clothes,” he presses another kiss to Kurt’s neck, “Waited until you were begging for me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” Kurt whimpers, arching his back. Blaine smirks and reaches over to the nightstand, picking up a bottle of lube Kurt hadn’t noticed before. The cap is still open from the previous night, and Kurt feels goosebumps erupt all over his body.

“I got my fingers all slicked up,” he does, and Kurt whines, “And pressed one into you, slowly.”

“Faster,” Kurt whimpers as he feels Blaine’s fingertip dance over his hole. Blaine chuckles.

“Funny,” he says, “That’s the same thing you said last night.”

He thrusts the finger in, his other hand keeping a slow and steady pace on Kurt’s cock. Kurt feels like he’s going to explode.

“You told me you could take two,” he whispers, kissing Kurt’s jaw gently and bringing his finger out only to return with two, “So I gave you two,” he kisses him again, closer to his mouth this time, “You’re so tight, Kurt. So warm and tight, and perfect. Better than I could have ever imagined.”

“You imagined?” Kurt asks, eyes clamping shut as Blaine peppers several more kisses between his jaw and his lips.

“Since you picked up Rachel for senior prom wearing that damn kilt. Felt like such a dirty old man.”

“You could have had me,” Kurt admits as Blaine adds a third finger. He clenches his ass muscles around them, loving the way Blaine moans at the action, “I would have let you. Let you bend me over your couch, flip that kilt up, fuck me right then and there,” he lifts his hands up to Blaine’s face and pulls him in for a kiss. “Been my first,” he whispers against Blaine’s lips and Blaine groans. He pulls his fingers out, grabs a condom from the nightstand and puts it on, lubes up his cock. Kurt spreads his legs in preparation.

“I was tired of teasing you,” Blaine says, though his tone suggests he’s tired of _Kurt_ teasing _him_ , “I pulled my fingers out and replaced them with my cock,” he positions himself, cockhead rubbing against Kurt’s hole. Kurt feels his hole flutter against it, and he rolls his hips, trying to bring Blaine inside him faster, “I’ll never forget your face when I first pushed inside you,” he says, voice quiet, “So hot. So beautiful. Like you’d been waiting your entire life for that moment.”

“I was. I am. Please, Blaine. _Please_.”

Blaine pushes into him, and Kurt has to hold back a shout. The memory of this happening for the first time yesterday, as well as the feeling of it happening right now is almost too much for him. He moves his hands up to Blaine’s shoulders and digs his fingers in. Blaine bottoms out quickly, much quicker than the night before, Kurt still loose from their previous activities.

“You take me so well,” Blaine says, and Kurt doesn’t know if he’s still thinking of last night or if he’s talking about now, “Better than anyone ever has.”

“Are you saying I’m better than all your other lovers?” Kurt can’t help but ask, though the question comes out more desperate than teasing. Blaine’s thrusting in and out of him now, his cock dragging against the sensitive insides of Kurt’s ass, and Kurt doesn’t think he can last much longer.

“Not that many others,” Blaine admits, giving Kurt a particularly powerful thrust, “But you’re better than them all.”

“ _God_ ,” Kurt moans, fingernails digging deeper into Blaine’s skin, rolling his hips up in the rhythm of Blaine’s thrusts.

They don’t speak after that, Blaine seeming to have lost all his words. He keeps fucking into Kurt, fingers pressing down on the bruises he left the previous night. Kurt fucks him right back, scratching up and down Blaine’s back, moans becoming increasingly louder the closer to orgasm he gets.

Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt’s cock and kisses him hard, with too much teeth and too much tongue. Kurt pulls Blaine closer, arms wrapping around his neck, cockhead peeking out of Blaine’s fingers and rubbing against that amazing soft part of Blaine’s belly. It brings him closer that much faster, and soon Kurt is biting down on Blaine’s bottom lip and coming. Blaine strokes him through it, pulling his tongue out of Kurt’s mouth and instead kissing him softly. Kurt rides out the waves of his orgasm, and Blaine fucks him through it.

He feels Blaine come just as he starts to twitch with oversensitivity. He’s gorgeous as he does, mouth falling open, hips thrusting erratically, hand still pumping Kurt’s cock like his life depends on it. Kurt hisses as the friction on his dick begins to hurt, but doesn’t say anything. Blaine looks incredibly and he’ll be damned if he ruins a single moment of it.

Finally Blaine is done and he carefully pulls out of Kurt, rolling over so that he’s on his back next to Kurt. They both lay there for a moment, catching their breath, and then Kurt moves in closer to Blaine, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his head on his chest. Blaine moves the blanket up to cover their bottom halves, and puts his arm around Kurt’s shoulder, pulling him closer and kissing the top of his head.

“So, which was better?” Kurt asks, “Last night when I was drunk an inebriated and would have done anything you wanted,” Blaine chuckles at that, “Or this morning?”

“Hmm,” Blaine kisses the top of his head again, “Is both an option?”

“If you want to be lame, yes,” Kurt teases.

“Well, call me lame then, because I enjoyed both exactly the same.”

Kurt sighs and kisses the center of Blaine’s chest, “Me too.”

“Oh, so you do remember last night?” Blaine asks, pinching Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Most of it, yeah. Your little re-telling helped a lot,” he says, resting his cheek against Blaine’s chest.

“Good,” Blaine whispers, and lets them fall into silence.

A silence that only lasts about three seconds, because soon the front door is opening and Rachel’s voice is drifting through the house, a loud, “Dad, I’m home!”

“Fuck,” Kurt shouts, leaping out of Blaine’s hold and his bed and grabbing his underwear, shoving himself into them as fast as he can.

“Are these Kurt’s shoes?” Rachel’s voice asks, and he can hear her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she makes her way to Blaine’s room. Kurt manages to stuff his legs into his pants, and has just pulled them over his ass when the door opens, “Dad, what’s going on?” she asks, then freezes when she sees Kurt standing next to her fathers bed, hands on the waistband of his jeans, and Blaine still lying in bed, not looking the least bit preoccupied.

“Hey Rachel,” he greets, sitting up and making sure the blanket covers his lower half. Kurt is still frozen in place, wide eyes glancing between Blaine and Rachel, “Did you have a good night with Jesse?”

She raises an eyebrow, “About as good as you did I would say.”

“Oh jesus christ,” Kurt whimpers, zipping up his jeans and grabbing his shirt off the floor.

“How… how did this happen, exactly?” she asks, pointing between them. Blaine turns to Kurt and raises his eyebrows, gesturing to him to explain.

“I,” he pauses and shuts his eyes tightly, “I may have sent your dad a dick pic?”

He peeks one eye open to see Rachel’s jaw dropped. She turns on her dad and shrieks, “ _That’s_ what made you give in?!”

“What can I say,” Blaine says, shrugging, “I am weak for cock.”

“Ew, shut up,” Rachel scrunches up her nose, “You’re so gross,” she shakes her head in disgust, “Whatever, just… don’t ever have sex while I’m in the house, okay? And if you get married, don’t expect me to call Kurt ‘dad’,” she gives them each a glare then turns around and says, “I’m taking a shower. There better be pancakes when I get out in order to make up for this very traumatizing experience.”

She storms off and Blaine just laughs. Kurt keeps staring at the door, unsure of what just happened, “She didn’t… look traumatized?” he says, confused.

Blaine scoots over on the bed enough so that he can tug Kurt back down into it with him, “She’s known I have a crush on you for a while,” he says, kissing Kurt’s still bare shoulder, “She was grossed out at first, but a few months ago she told me that she understood if I asked you out and that she wouldn’t be mad about it.”

“Oh,” Kurt nods, still a bit confused, “I… okay, then?”

“Yes, it’s okay,” Blaine assures. “Now, come on. She was serious about those pancakes.”

**

Rachel comes out of the shower about half an hour later and waltzes into the dining room announcing, “I texted Brittany, Santana, and Jesse about this.”

Kurt groans and pulls his phone out, unsurprised to see a text from Santana reading _YOU SENT RACHEL’S DAD A DICK PIC?!?!?!?!?!?!_

“Great, thanks Rach,” she just shrugs innocently and digs into her pancakes. Blaine walks over to Kurt and pulls him close.

“Hey,” he says, quietly, but not quietly enough for Rachel not to hear, “Do you still have that kilt you wore to your prom?”

Kurt flushes bright red and smacks Blaine on the shoulder, while Blaine laughs and Rachel shrieks, “Stop!”

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable on tumblr ](http://klaineanummel.tumblr.com/post/127097464720/your-text-from-last-night)


End file.
